


Prologue

by orphan_account



Series: The Dreamspire Myth [1]
Category: The Dreamspire Myth
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gore, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is a "restart" of my storyline that I originally started posting on instagram on @thedreamspiremyth. I have since dropped the storyline on that account and am resorting to writing it on AO3 and other writing sites.
Series: The Dreamspire Myth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916098





	Prologue

The rising sun was barely visible through a gloomy haze, a heavy fog that covered a muddy valley. A river cut through the valley like a slug, the currents barely strong enough to carry away a stick. It was brown, the riverbed having been churned up by many feet. There was a red tinge to it, the blood of many bodies that lay littered around the valley. Horses and men alike. The sickening aftermath of the bloodiest battle of the French Revolution. Only one horse was left standing, bony and shaking. It's black coat was matted with dirt and blood, much of it was his own. He was rapidly losing blood through many cuts all over body, most of which poured from two long cuts around his throat. The blood loss didn't seem to affect this dark shadow, and it stood, seemingly mourning over the bodies of two horses and 3 soldiers. The people were cloaked, and too dirty to identify. The horses looked to be in similar to condition to the one standing over them, bony and ragged. All 5 bodies had strange, green glowing arrows lodged in their bodies. They appeared to be the only deaths caused by visible injury, the other corpses littered across the battlefield only had an odd, black mist rising from them, as if their souls were floating up the heavens above. Soon enough, the black mist was surrounding the only survivor, barely visible through the thick cloud. It followed the horse as he started wandering towards the hills that surrounded this scene. The sun was now well above the horizon, though still gave off a weak light, barely able to penetrate the heavy fog that lay in the valley. The black mist still surrounded the horse as he climbed up the hillside. He bee lined for an odd rock formation, that looked like a well. Once at the odd pieces of stone, he raised his head, and chanted something in a foreign language, "Ω Θεέ μου, φέρε αυτές τις χαμένες ψυχές στον κάτω κόσμο, για το καλύτερο ή για το χειρότερο. Ω Θεέ μου, φέρε αυτές τις χαμένες ψυχές στον κάτω κόσμο, για το καλύτερο ή για το χειρότερο...". His eyes began to glow a spectacular blood red, and red smoke crawled out of the corners of his elongated, unnaturally toothy mouth. The black mist swirled up in a tornado like fashion, before disappearing down the middle of the rocks. The horse's words cut off abruptly, and he lowered his head, angling it so he could look towards the lands beyond. His one good eye glinted, as his sight trained on a bustling city, alight with life. A crooked smile appeared on his face, showing off his unnatural silver teeth that traveled up the entire length of his head.  
\----  
Doors slammed and shutters closed. Nobody dared face the mysterious figure walking through the once busy streets. Anyone who did muster up the stupid bravery to confront the large horse ended up dead, a swift bite to the neck ending their life. Blood flooded the streets for the first time since July 27th, 1794. The Reign of Terror had returned, bloodier and scarier than ever. The people of Paris cowered, waiting for this nightmare to end. But the scarred, skinny and absolutely terrifying horse did not cease until every bit of life was gone. The remaining citizens tried desperately to escape on a boat, but were quickly found by this bringer of death. He climbed onto the boat, covered in blood and oddly calm. No one resisted his presence, and he simply waited for the ship to leave shore. The captain appeared to be taking the boat on the route to the small island of Jorvik, a two week's journey from the beaches of France. By the time the island came into view, the killer struck. He left no survivors, and watched the approaching island with a look of terrifying satisfaction in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a "restart" of my storyline that I originally started posting on instagram on @thedreamspiremyth. I have since dropped the storyline on that account and am resorting to writing it on AO3 and other writing sites.


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